


Dr. Spencer Reid's First Case

by boredom



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: BAMF Spencer Reid, Gen, Hurt Spencer Reid, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23453947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boredom/pseuds/boredom
Summary: Derek Morgan wasn't sure he trusted Gideon's judgement. After all, who allows a 23 year old who can't even pass the academy's physical exam to become a field agent? Luckily for him, Reid is about to prove just how competent (and badass) he can be.Trigger warnings: blood, violence, mentions of school shootings, death, lack of respect towards people suffering from mental illness, and other things you would normally find in a Criminal Minds episode.
Comments: 34
Kudos: 1213





	Dr. Spencer Reid's First Case

**Author's Note:**

> Like most people, I am stuck at home. Like most people, I have been binge-watching TV. Criminal Minds is definitely a first love of mine and I've never written for the fandom. But I'm bored and I'm procrastinating on my other fics so here you go. Enjoy!

When Derek Morgan was 23, he was going out with friends. When Derek Morgan was 23, he was meeting pretty girls and getting into some good-natured trouble. When Derek Morgan was 23, he was still taking his laundry over to his mom's house, partly because he didn't want to ruin his clothes and partly because he wanted to see his mom. When Derek Morgan was 23, he was not assigned to be a field agent working on some of the most horrific cases known to man. He was not staring at bodies of dead, mutilated people, mostly women. He was not traveling around the country so often he often forgot what day it was or what time zone he was in. He was not tackling sick, depraved individuals who thought torture was the only way to get revenge on perceived wrongs. He was not undertaking a very dangerous job with constant risk of injury to his person. 

There was a reason why field agents often had years of experience in other forms of law, or behind the scenes desk work before they were put on specialized task forces. 

It wasn't that he disliked Spencer Reid per se (doctor, doctor Spencer Reid). He had taken the liberty to look through the kid's file and his coursework. He had to admit, the kid was good. However, there was one major glaring issue that he couldn't get past: the kid was 23. He didn't have enough experience in this field of work to even be considered a viable agent. He was too young and Morgan was not afraid to share that opinion. 

"It's not up to you." Hotch had said after a particularly heated argument after bringing up the fact that they needed waivers for the physical portion of the exam. 

"Yeah, well, I think you're making a mistake. Hotch, this kid should not be anywhere near field work. Maybe in ten years, after he can do a pushup." 

"Morgan." His tone was a warning. 

Morgan was not good at listening to warnings. Ask his mother. "Just because Gideon wants a new tool--"

"Dr. Reid is not a tool." 

He still decided to ignore the warning tone. "Oh, really? Because from what I heard it's all about how much of an 'asset' this kid is going to be. Is anyone looking out for his best interests? Is there anyone who said, hey, maybe we shouldn't let the kid who is barely able to drink out in the field doing incredibly dangerous work." 

"He knows what he's getting into." 

"Does he, though? Think back on when you were his age. Were you really so mature at 23 that you fully understood every choice and the ramifications it would have on your life? They don't even let you rent a car until you're 25 and just because he's a genius doesn't mean that he has the capability to fully understand what this line of work means." 

This seemed to give Hotch some pause. Morgan was almost thankful that his boss finally saw the light. 

Almost, until Hotch said, "What's done is done. I expect you to treat Dr. Reid like any other agent. He's going with us to New Mexico."

oOoOoOo

Reid was not stupid. He knew Agent Morgan did not like him the moment he set foot in the office. You didn't need to be a profiler to figure that out. The way he stood, the way he spoke, the way he looked at him, it was very clear he was not Reid's biggest fan. 

This realization had almost crushed him. He had had his share of high school and even college bullies. People who were intimidated by his intelligence, who thought that his very existence was an affront to their own minds. He had hoped that this time would be different. This time he would be surrounded by people who were professionals and who would appreciate what he had to offer. Turns out, there were bullies at every stage in life. 

At least Agent Morgan was professional enough not to stuff him in a locker. At least the rest of the team seemed to enjoy his presence. He wasn't sure what he had done to irritate Agent Morgan before they had even formally met, but he had done something. Was it because of his knowledge? Did Agent Morgan feel threatened by this? Was it because of his age? Was it because Agent Morgan was a football player and needed to live up to the cliche and stereotype, even as an adult? 

Reid had dealt with worse. As long as Agent Morgan didn't try to do anything, he could be a professional about this. Maybe Agent Morgan was always distrustful of new people. Maybe he didn't have his morning coffee and was now grumpy. Maybe he was a jerk who was only on the team because someone needed to break down doors and Reid sure as hell wasn't recruited for his physical prowess. 

He could do this. He could be a professional and ignore the daggers Agent Morgan was glaring at him. 

They were headed to New Mexico. A visit to the dump sites and a look at the bodies told them their unsub was a narcissistic sociopath with delusions of grandeur who thought he was the star of some grand story. He also had a victim complex and was taking out his anger of surrogates for people who had "wronged" him in life, mostly his parents. They had profiled that he would want to go out in a blaze of glory, likely suicide by cop after racking up a high enough kill count to ensure that he went down in history. They had to act fast if they were going to minimize casualties. 

Reid and a local officer were headed to a therapist's office. Dr. Lucille Cameron had treated the unsub, Clark Deacon, for a brief stint. She might know how to reach him. She might also be in danger. Still, Reid's instructions were simple. Go to the office and escort Dr. Cameron back to the station until they caught their guy. 

Reid paused at the door when he realized the officer was not following him in. "Aren't you coming?" He was nervous, especially since he didn't have a gun. What if Deacon showed up? Reid would feel a lot better if there was someone there with a gun. 

The officer took out a cigarette and shrugged. "Smoke break, kid." 

He wanted to protest both the officer's use of the word 'kid' and his blatant disregard for protocol. They were hunting a very dangerous man who was unhinged and getting more and more dangerous as time went on. Reid really did not want to go anywhere by himself. 

However, he could also see how this situation would play out. He'd protest. The officer would mock him and insinuate that he was not brave enough to be an FBI field agent. Word would get back to Hotch and Gideon. Agent Morgan would be proven right. And Reid would look like an idiot for even thinking of protesting. 

So instead, he sighed and went inside without the officer. Let that guy continue to be a jerk. Chances were minimal that Deacon would show up and even if he did, the officer would be right outside and see him come in. He knew what the man looked like so hopefully he'd be able to stop him. 

Reid went up to the therapist's office. There was a receptionist and about ten people milling about the waiting room. He looked at the clock on the wall. 12:30 pm, so the therapists were probably all at lunch. 

"Can I help you?" the receptionist asked. 

His heart was pounding in his chest. He had to get Dr. Cameron out of here without inciting mass panic. He had to remain calm and collected while still relaying urgency to all involved. He really should have forced the officer to come up here with him. 

He nodded and stepped towards the desk, looking around to make sure no one in the room was paying attention to him. 

He showed her his badge. "My name is Dr. Reid," Should he have used Agent in front? "I need to know where Dr. Lucille Cameron is." 

The receptionist paled. "I'm sorry, she's out sick today. Is she in trouble?" 

Shit. What was he supposed to do now? Well, he'd have to call Hotch and let him know, but he also had to make sure these people were safe. If Deacon thought this was where Dr. Cameron was, then this is where he was going to be headed. 

"I don't want to alarm you, but you need to get everyone out right now. We have reason to believe this office is going to be targeted." 

The poor receptionist paled even more. Reid was worried she would pass out. Should he have told her that? Should he have been more subtle? It didn't matter now. Now he had to help these people get out of the building. 

"Do you understand me?" 

The receptionist nodded. 

"Good. Is there anyone in a session right now?"

"No, Dr. Black is out on lunch. He should be back by now but he isn't." 

"Call Dr. Black and tell him not to go to the office. I'll start getting people out." 

The receptionist picked up the phone and dialed, her hands shaking. 

Reid thought his luck would hold out. He really should have known better. 

The door opened and a semi-automatic went off, filling the room with screams as people ducked under chairs and tables. The receptionist had fully dove to the floor, leaving the phone off the hook. 

Great. Just great. Just what he needed on his first case. A hostage situation. 

Reid was shaking now, his mind going a million miles a minute. He could recall the entire hostage negotiation handbook that Hotch had written. He could recite it word for word without a mistake. And yet, here and now, it was like the words were in a different language. He couldn't figure out how to take the steps and apply it to real life. For the first time in his life, he had all the knowledge he could ever need, but no idea how to use it. 

"Where is Cameron?" Deacon asked. 

Reid slowly turned around, relieved to see the gun had been aimed up at the ceiling. So far, it looked like there were no casualties. 

Clark Deacon was standing at the door, in full glory. Reid swallowed and forced himself to calm down. HIs hands were shaking and statistics about hostage deaths were flying through his head. Hopefully, the officer had heard the shots and called it in. Hopefully, Hotch and Gideon were on their way to take over. It would probably take about fifteen minutes to relay the information to the station and for the team to get here. All Reid had to do was keep Deacon calm and everyone else alive for fifteen minutes. That was all. Fifteen minutes. Half of a half of an hour. He could do this. 

"Clark Deacon?" he asked. The profile was still fresh in his head. A sociopath with a victim complex who was obsessed with storytelling. He could work with this... maybe?

"Where is Cameron? She has to pay for what she said about me. For persecuting me!" 

"Dr. Cameron isn't here right now." Should he tell him about her being sick? No, there was a chance Deacon could go to her house. He had to keep him here and entertained. If that was the path he was going down, he also had to get the hostages out. 

Deacon thrust the semi-automatic towards him. Reid didn't flinch. He could do this. He could distract the unsub for fifteen minutes. 

"My name is," he took a shaky breath, "my name is Agent Spencer Reid, I'm with the FBI." If he had said Doctor, there was a chance Deacon could misunderstand and take his anger out on him. 

"FBI?" That piqued his interest. Good. 

"Yes, we were called here to, to investigate you. To try and figure out your story." 

The gun lowered. "You really are with the FBI?" 

Reid nodded and held up his hands. "I can get my badge if you like. It's just in my back pocket." 

"What about your gun?" 

"Profilers aren't required to carry." That and Reid's hand-eye coordination were so atrocious some instructors refused to train him with live ammunition. 

Deacon was still for a moment before nodding. "Turn around so I can see your hands and pull out your badge." 

Maybe it was a bad idea to turn his back to an unstable serial killer waving around a semi-automatic, but Reid didn't have much of a choice, so he complied. Once he got the badge, he showed it to him. 

"See. FBI." 

Deacon nodded again. "FBI. Major government organization." 

"Yeah, you are interested in making your mark on the world, right?" He had to figure out a way to get the hostages out of here. He hoped it would be easier for Hotch to negotiate if it was just him in the building. Maybe this was a stupid idea, but it was the only one Reid had. He couldn't count on keeping everyone alive until the team got here. The best bet to save lives was to get them out of the building as soon as possible.

"Yeah. Yeah I am. People need to know my name." 

Stay calm. Stay focused. "Right." His brain was calculating statistics and every possible outcome. Solutions and steps were swirling around in his head. He had to make a choice. He had to choose a path. 

"Do you really think killing any of these people is going to help with that?" 

Deacon's gaze snapped up to meet him. "What are you talking about?" he growled. 

Shit, did he make a mistake? "I mean, look around you, do any of these people know who you are?"

Deacon glanced around. 

"Cameron isn't even here. There isn't even another therapist here to be her surrogate. Most of these people are here dealing with petty problems that probably don't even need a shrink to begin with." 

He stopped himself from wincing. He knew better than anyone the benefit of having mental health help, no matter what state your mind was in. But he had a role to play. 

"If you kill these people, honestly, it's just going to be a cliche." 

Deacon's eyes widened. Play into his obsession with story telling. 

"Crazed serial killer goes on a mass shooting, that, honestly, isn't even that massive. Even if you kill everyone in the room your body count will be lower than an average high school shooter. You might get your fifteen minutes of fame, but what's the point? All this work for segment on the local news and a footnote in a small paper? You might as well try out for the latest reality TV show. At least you might stay relevant for longer." 

"No, that can't happen, not after everything! I won't let it!" 

The people in the room flinched, a few were crying. Reid couldn't blame him. He wanted to hunker down too. He pushed forward. 

"I know. Remember, I'm a profiler. My job is to figure out your story as accurately as possible. I may not know you perfectly, but I know with all of the work you put into your crimes, staging your victims, stalking perfect look alike to the people who have wronged you, I don't think you want to end your story killing a bunch of random people who, quite frankly, don't matter. Not in your story. Not in any story, really. How many of these people live such boring lives that the mark they'll make on the world is minuscule?" 

That was harsh, but it appeared to be working. He could see the cogs turning in Deacon's head as he mulled over Reid's words. 

"How do you want your story to be told?" 

oOoOoOo

Morgan was pissed. He was more than pissed, he was furious. He was 'mom found out about his sister sneaking out to meet up with a boy' pissed. That officer was lucky there was a bunch of cameras, cops and FBI agents around because Morgan wanted nothing more than to beat his pathetic ass. 

"I'm sorry," he stammered, shrinking away from Gideon's stony expression. "I thought we were just going to get a witness. I didn't know the perp was going to show up!" 

"How did he walk by you without you noticing? You've seen his picture!" Morgan was going to have to find the nearest boxing gym and punch a bag for a solid hour after this. 

The kid was in there alone. Even for a seasoned agent not fresh out of the academy, hostage situations were incredibly difficult and dangerous. It took years of specialized training to even begin to be considered for the role of hostage negotiator. Sure, the kid may have read Hotch's handbook, but that didn't mean he was at all prepared to deal with an actual situation. 

Now, on top of everything else, he was in there, alone, unarmed, with about ten civilians, trying to talk down an unsub who was profiled as wanting to commit suicide by cop. And if the "cop" in question didn't have a gun, then he was going to get rid of him to live out his sick and twisted fantasy. 

"How long have they been in there?" Hotch asked. Outwardly, he looked remarkably calm. Morgan, however, had worked with him long enough to know he was also two seconds away from murdering this man. 

"About twenty minutes. There hasn't been any other shots fired and the rest of the building's been cleared." 

At least the cop wasn't entirely useless. 

Hotch sighed. "And has he made any demands?" 

"Not yet." 

"Alright. We'll call him and open up a line of communication. Hopefully he'll consent to having one of us go in and talk him down from there. The goal is to keep everyone alive, including Dr. Reid." 

Easier said than done. However, if the last shots were twenty minutes ago, hopefully the kid was still alive. 

"We've got movement!" one of the officers called.

Immediately, guns were drawn and everyone fell back into a defensive position, ready to shoot if the unsub came out firing. 

Instead, ten people ran out the door, hands in the air, visibly shaking as they exited the building. 

"Son of a bitch," Morgan said as a member of the SWAT team rushed forward to pull them out of the line of fire. Somehow, the kid had convinced the unsub in the middle of a psychotic break to let ten hostages go. Maybe Morgan had been wrong about him. 

Gideon and JJ went over to the hostages. 

"Can you tell us what happened?" Gideon asked. "What about the FBI agent, is he still in the building?" 

One of them nodded, tears streaming down her face. "He convinced him to let us go. He's still in there though, with that psycho." 

"Okay, ma'am," JJ put a hand on her shoulder, "thank you. Is there anything else you want to tell us?" 

Hotch looked at Morgan. "Now that the other hostages are gone, Reid's not going to be able to keep him from breaking down completely. We have to get in there." He turned back to the officers. "Has someone managed to get ahold of the office phone?" 

The woman burst into tears. "Oh, oh no." She sobbed. 

"What is it? What's wrong?" 

"The phone. It's not on its hook. I was calling Dr. Black when he came in and I never put it back on the hook." 

Morgan couldn't blame the woman. He really couldn't. Putting a phone back on a hook probably wouldn't be his first priority if a man walked into his office and started shooting. Hotch was definitely trying to keep his head as well. 

"We have no choice. We have to go in there and hope we catch him by surprise and that Reid is far enough away so that he won't be used as a hostage." 

"Is that the best we can do?" JJ asked. 

"It's the best we got right now. I'll assemble a team. Five minutes." 

"Hotch, he may not have five minutes." In all honesty, Morgan didn't think the kid had thirty seconds. 

"It's the best we can do."

"I think Reid can talk long enough for us to get a team together and get in there," Gideon said. 

"That's comforting." 

He looked at him. "You have to trust Reid as a team mate. He's smart and he's capable. He wouldn't be here if he wasn't." 

Morgan wanted to bring up the copious amounts of waivers needed to put the kid on active duty, but decided now probably wasn't the best time. Now they needed to focus on getting Reid out of there alive.

oOoOoOo

"Hurry up!" Deacon yelled, jamming the gun against Reid's temple. 

"I'm going as fast as I can," he said while fumbling with the lock of his handcuffs. "It's not exactly easy to do this on yourself." Boy was he glad he had a magic phase when he was younger. 

Deacon had insisted on having him handcuff himself to the chair. This was good because hopefully, when the team came barging in here he wouldn't be able to use Reid as a hostage. This was also good because if Reid got the cuffs just right, he could slip out of them and dive to the side if the team decided to riddle Deacon with bullets.

"There. Got them." 

Deacon yanked his wrist up and checked the cuffs. He seemed satisfied with their tightness and let his wrist go. 

"I'm going to be known. Everyone will know my name by time this is all over." 

Reid slipped his wrist out of the cuff and wedged his hand in between his thigh to hide it. 

"Bundy, BTK, the Zodiac. I'll be one of the greats. Everyone will know my story. Except, I'll be even better." He turned and aimed the gun at Reid's head. "Because none of them ever killed an FBI agent." 

Keep calm. Keep him focused on his goal. "Oh, you think killing me is going to help you?" 

Deacon laughed. "Of course you would say that. You want to live. But I know killing you will have a great impact. What better way to end my story?" 

Reid sucked in a breath. "Um, I hate to tell you this, but I am probably the most expendable person in the FBI. The janitors are probably a better target than me." 

His smile dropped. "But, you're a profiler?" 

"Yeah. This is kind of my first case. Like, ever. I've never been out in the field before. No one on the team actually respects me. Why do you think I was sent here to pick up Dr. Cameron and not working with the other profilers. This is basically a glorified fetch quest for the least important member of the team. One of my teammates, Agent Morgan, I'm pretty sure he actively hates me. He definitely doesn't care about my life." 

Hopefully that was all a lie, but even Reid couldn't pretend like he was some invaluable asset to the team. 

"I told you profilers weren't required to carry." 

Deacon nodded. 

"That's true, but also, I have terrible hand eye coordination. I have yet to pass my firearms exam. I actually haven't passed most of my physical exams and I'm pretty sure most of the instructors wish I would just go away." 

"What about friends? Family who would be deeply impacted by your loss?" 

Reid let out a bitter laugh. Now they were getting into territory he knew to be true. "I literally have no friends. Now bullies, I could fill books with their names, but friends. Nope. Sorry."

"Family?" 

"My dad left when I was ten and I honestly don't know where he's at. He's never contacted me and I doubt would care if I died. My mother," he took a deep breath. He hated that he had to bare his soul and his secrets to this man. Hated that this was going to be one of the only people who knew about his shame. But it had to be done. 

"My mother is a paranoid schizophrenic I had locked up in a mental institution when I was eighteen. On her bad days, she doesn't even know I exist. On her good days, she hates me for putting her away. Sorry, but if you kill me, no one will care. You'll have wasted the climax of your story on an FBI agent who hasn't even technically passed his academy exams." 

Deacon's face turned red. "No. This can't be how it ends. You can't be the final chapter." 

Everything happened in slow motion. Deacon raised the butt of the gun and drove it into Reid's face. Over, and over and over again. Five times in total. He could feel his skin split and blood drip down his face. Somehow, it hurt just as much as he thought it would, not as much as he thought it would, and more than he thought it would. His ears were ringing. His vision was fuzzy. His head was pounding. 

Deacon stepped back and let out a roar of frustration. "This isn't how it was supposed to happen!" 

Reid let out a weak cough and slumped down in the seat, not even caring that his hand was now showing in all its uncuffed glory. He had been in here for close to thirty minutes, walking on eggshells to keep everyone else alive. He was tired. He was scared. And now he was in a lot of pain. He wanted this to end. 

"Who do I kill then?" Deacon whipped around to face him. 

"What?" 

"Which FBI agent do I kill to cement my name in history? Which one?" There were veins popping out of his forehead and his face was red with rage.

Gideon was the first name that popped into Reid's head. Well respected and well known. He couldn't bring himself to say it. If he told Deacon anything and an agent or officer died because of it, that would be blood on his hands. 

He took a deep breath, wiped the blood from his eye and pushed himself to sit up straight. His head throbbed with every movement and he could taste blood in his mouth.

"I still think it's a bit cliche," he said. 

"What? What do you mean?" 

"I mean," he took another deep breath. "I mean the whole concept of "suicide by cop" is kind of played out. People want their glory. They want to feel like only a force greater than themselves can stop them. So you kill Agent Gideon, or Agent Morgan. So what? They won't be the only FBI agents to die in the line of fire this month. You'll become a statistic, a footnote the Academy uses to talk about with all the other killer who want to commit suicide by cop." 

He looked around the office, at the upturned chairs and the phone hanging off the hook; at the prints of stock plant photos that seemed to be in every doctor's office ever. He took in the beige walls and the maroon chairs with weird flecks of blue on them. 

"Is this really how you want your story to end? In a standard therapist's office surrounded by cheap, sub-par decorations that are sold to just about every other medical waiting room in the greater Albuquerque area?"

Deacon looked around, lowering the gun. The red in his face dissipated somewhat. 

"Not only that, but if you kill an agent, that guarantees you'll die here and now." 

"Yes. That's what I want." 

"Is it though? I mean, your whole life people have been writing your story for you. Your parents putting dreams into your head that weren't yours. Dr. Cameron diagnosing you with diseases that downplayed your experiences. Social workers and teachers not believing the things you said. You're the only one who knows what happened to you. If you die here, what's to stop Agent Hotchner from writing a book about you in which he blames all of your actions on your first girlfriend instead of putting the blame where it belongs." 

"That won't happen. You guys are profilers. You're supposed to know why I do the things I do." 

"But you're dead and people will be able to say what they want about you for the rest of your life. Unless you have an autobiography stashed away in your belongings somewhere, your story the way you experienced it will never be told." 

Deacon was pacing now, muttering to himself. Just a little more. If Reid could just convince him a little more, maybe they would resolve this all peacefully and no one would get hurt (except for him). 

"Who do you want to tell your story, and how do you want your story to end?" 

Deacon looked at him. It seemed as though realization was dawning in his mind. The FBI had to be here now. They could walk out together and then Reid could get the fuck away from this insane person and never talk to him again. 

There was movement out of the corner of his eye. The door burst open. Deacon reacted to it faster than Reid did and dragged him out of his chair and in front of him, awkwardly trying to position the semi-automatic to point at his head. Great, now he was a human shield. At least he forgot about the cuffs.

"FBI, let him go." Agent Hotchner was there, gun raised and poised to shoot. 

He had been so close to getting out of here. These guys couldn't have waiting like two more minutes? They already took their sweet time getting here. What was two more minutes? 

"I am the one in control here!" Deacon shouted. His breath stank so bad. "I'm the one who's writing the story." 

"Put the gun down," Gideon said, circling to his side. 

Deacon backed against the wall, head whipping back and forth as he took in the agents and officers in the room, guns drawn, and circling him. 

"I need to go down in history. People need to know what happened." 

Should Reid stay quiet and let the others take care of this? He had spent the most amount of time with Deacon and had worked away at his world-view for most of that time. In reality, he was probably the only one who could take control of this situation. 

"Deacon," he said, trying to pull his attention away from the chaos that surrounded them. "Remember what we talked about."

The grip on his shoulder loosened. Good, so he didn't have short-term memory loss. 

"How do you want your story to end? And who do you want telling that story?" 

"Put the gun down, Deacon," Agent Morgan said. 

Deacon didn't move. The seconds seemed to drag on for hours. There was more blood in his eyes but he didn't dare move to wipe it away. Did the semi-automatic even have any bullets left? What was a standard issue magazine? How many rounds had he fired when he entered the building? 

The hand on his shoulder and the gun at his temple dropped away and Reid stumbled forward. Surprisingly, Agent Morgan was the one the rush forward and pull him away from Deacon. Hotch and Gideon were the ones to disarm him and cuff him. 

Agent Morgan led him out into the hallway, one arm around his shoulder and the other one gripping his wrist, practically holding him up. 

All at once, it seemed to catch up with him exactly what had happened and his legs gave out. 

"Woah there kid, easy. What's wrong?" Agent Morgan asked, helping him to the ground. 

Reid let out a strangled shriek. "He held a loaded weapon to my head! The safety wasn't even on!" 

Agent Morgan didn't seem surprised by this outburst. 

"I was just beaten over the head five times!" 

"We need to get you to a medic, kid. Is anything else hurt?" He was talking in that annoying voice that people talked in when they were trying and failing to soothe you. Reid hated that voice. 

"I spent thirty minutes with a sociopath! What took you guys so long?" It was as if all the fear he had been suppressing was now rushing back up to the surface except his brain couldn't process so much negative emotion at once. 

"I think you're having a panic attack, which is totally reasonably given what you just went through." 

"People could have died. I could have died! This is one of the worst days of my life!" 

"One of?" 

"Well I don't have a ranking of every day in my life!" he snapped. "What if I have a concussion? What if I experience memory loss because of a concussion." 

"We'll get you to a medic and get you checked out." Morgan tried to pull him back to his feet. 

"I've never forgotten anything in my life. How do normal people just forget things? How do you live not knowing everything that's ever happened to you? How do you remember every important piece of information? What if you forget something important because you didn't think it was important but it really was important?" 

"I think you're fixating on the wrong thing here, Reid." 

"I'm going to recite the digits of pi." 

"Whatever gets you to the ambulance, genius." This time, Morgan did manage to pull him to his feet; probably because Agent Morgan was approximately ten times stronger than he was. He had seem him deadlift at least three times Reid's bodyweight, which was a terrifying concept if you stopped to think about it long enough. 

In the end, he needed sixteen stitches, but surprisingly did not have a concussion. Reid couldn't wait to get back to DC where he could be surrounded by his books and his coffee. If this was going to happen every case, he was going to have to think about a career change.

oOoOoOo

Morgan hated to admit it, but Reid was a better agent than he initially thought. Keeping his cool in the absolute worst circumstances imaginable was not an easy feat. The fact that this was Reid's first case, first hostage situation, and first time dealing with an unsub and the only outcome had been sixteen stitches was a miracle. It also proved that Dr. Spencer Reid was an actual asset to the team. Maybe Gideon was right after all. 

Something about this situation still bugged Morgan, though. The kid was still a kid. He didn't feel like everyone was looking out for his best interests. Maybe, though, instead of brooding over the fact, maybe he could deal with it. Reid wasn't going away, no matter how unprepared Morgan thought he was. So, if he wasn't going away, the best solution was going to be to watch the kid's back, perhaps more so than he would with his other teammates. 

Reid reached up and poked at his stitches for the tenth time in the past five minutes. 

"Quit poking it. You're going to make it worse." He was going to have to write home to his mother about all of this. It was frightening how much he was starting to act like her and he would have to withstand the dreaded 'I told you so'. 

Reid glared at him. "It feels weird." 

"Cause you keep poking it." 

He sighed and dropped his hand. "I've never needed so many stitches at once." Surprisingly, he didn't seem to be too traumatized by what had happened not 24 hours prior. He was definitely tougher than Morgan gave him credit for. That worried him. People weren't tough unless they had to be because of past experience. If getting shot at and beaten wasn't enough to shake Reid, what had this kid gone through?

He decided that could wait (Rule #1: don't profile your own teammates), and pulled out a deck of cards. 

"You play poker?" 

Reid narrowed his eyes. "I'm from Vegas." 

"Isn't that a stereotype that everyone from Vegas gambles." 

He shrugged. "I guess."

Morgan cut the deck. "Come on, let's play a few rounds, get your mind off of your stitches." 

Reid didn't look convinced. "You know I'm from Vegas, right?" He seemed to be hiding something. 

"Being from Vegas doesn't change your luck. Are you in or what?" 

Reid thought for a minute, and then his face broke into a grin. "What's the buy in?" 

Gideon couldn't help but question his actions these past few months. When he found Reid, he thought he had found the answer to all his problems. The kid was not only smart, he knew how to use it. He was passionate about making a difference in the world. He wasn't discouraged by hard work or difficult odds. And yet, in light of recent events he wondered if he had pushed too hard, if he had forced Spencer into this too soon. 

The kid was eager to please and desperate for a place to belong. Had Gideon used that to his advantage without fully considering the ramifications it would have on his mental health? Had he willfully ignored warning signs and bent rules to suit his own needs before the needs of a living, breathing human? 

Perhaps this was all a mistake. He'd have to talk to Reid about this when they got back. He didn't want the kid to feel like he had failed, but he was also worried he had pushed too hard too fast. 

"What's the matter?" Hotch asked, already working on the paperwork for the case. 

"Do you think I made the right decision, pushing Reid through the academy at such a young age?" 

Hotch sighed and closed the file. "What's done is done. It has to be his decision whether to stay or leave. He's experienced the worst, though." 

"Has he?" 

"It can't get much worse than being taken hostage by an unsub and having to talk him down for thirty minutes." 

Gideon didn't feel convinced. 

"Besides, him and Morgan are now getting along." 

"Really? I thought Morgan didn't like him." He hadn't doubted that Morgan would get along well with Reid, but he was worried when the two didn't immediately hit it off. 

"Yes, well, he likes him enough to play several rounds of poker." 

Gideon froze. "What do you mean?" 

"Exactly what I said." 

"Are they playing with real money?" 

"As their supervisor, I have to say no so they won't get in trouble." 

Gideon groaned. "How much has Morgan lost?" 

Hotch smiled. "At least a hundred. Possibly two. You might want to stop them before Reid gets his car." 

They had talked about this. And he knew Reid remembered the conversation. He was incapable of forgetting. 

"I'll go deal with it."

"And as their supervisor, I can't reprimand them for things I can't see." 

Morgan could not believe how bad his luck was. He couldn't seem to get ahead. Maybe being from Vegas did give Reid some sort of advantage. Gideon walked up and stood behind Reid. Shit, they weren't technically supposed to be gambling with money. Hopefully Gideon would go easy on them and not tell Hotch. 

Reid didn't seem to realize who was behind him. "I'll raise." He threw in a few dollars. 

"Are you sure you want to do that, Spencer?" 

Reid froze. He didn't look this frightened after facing down the unsub. Maybe he was afraid of getting in trouble so soon after starting. Morgan felt like he had to take the rap now; convince Gideon it had been his idea to use money. 

"Um, hi, Gideon. We were just, playing a friendly game of..." 

"Look, Gideon--"

"Did you tell Agent Morgan about your past?" 

Alright, this was not going the way Morgan thought it would. 

Reid threw down his cards. "I wasn't going to keep the money. I was going to give it all back." 

"What do you mean about your past?" He was very confused now. Were they not in trouble for gambling?

"Then I suggest you do it." 

Reid pursed his lips and slid back the cash he had gathered over the past hour. 

"All of it, Spencer." 

He sighed and threw out a couple more twenties on the table. 

"I won't reprimand you here, but I know you remember our exact conversation on the matter."

Reid crossed his arms and slumped back in his seat, looking much more childish now. "It's not my fault and it's been so long since I've gotten to play." 

"What are you two talking about?" He didn't like not knowing what these two were talking about. He felt like he was being played. 

"I'll let Reid tell you about it." Gideon patted Reid's shoulder and went back to Hotch.

"What is going on?" He wasn't mad, per-say, but he didn't like being kept in the dark. 

Reid huffed. "Look, don't be mad, but I've kind of been banned by every casino in Las Vegas." 

"What?" 

"And most of the ones in Reno." 

"Hold up." 

"And a couple dozen in California." 

"Wait--"

"And even though I've never been there most of the casino's in Montana have put me on the blacklist." 

"Why?" 

Reid bit his lip and and glanced away. "Um, well, it's not really my fault. I can't control it."

"Reid?" 

"I count cards." 

Morgan threw up his hands. 

"Like I said, I can't control it. My mind just likes statistics and poker is all about statistics." 

He couldn't believe this kid. He had played him like a fiddle, and Morgan fell for it. The kid was a genius. Possibly an evil genius, but a genius nonetheless. 

"It's been so long since I've been able to play and Gideon forbade me from playing with any of the cadets, mostly so that I didn't make any enemies and you were willing so I figured, what the heck?" 

He laughed. "I can't believe it. You're more devious than I though, pretty boy." 

"Pretty boy?" 

"Come on, what's a game you are allowed to play." 

Reid paused for a minute, and then relaxed. The kid was full of surprises, Morgan couldn't argue with that. Maybe this was the start of a beautiful friendship after all.


End file.
